


Ship's Progress

by misbegotten



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-23
Updated: 2001-07-23
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During s05ep01, "Enemies," Sam and Jacob fixed the shields. Theoretically, the team had nine more hours to kill in the coronosphere. For the hell of it, let's pretend that they actually used some of that time instead of jumping to the next page of the script...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ship's Progress

Sam ran a hand through her hair, grimacing at the knot of tension that had made its way from the base of her neck up to her forehead.

4 million light years. 125 years from home. The Colonel, Selmak, and her father bickering about rank and protocol.

"I'm in hell," she murmured. She heard Daniel moving from the doorway, felt his hands on her back, and leaned into them.

"We've been there before," he answered. He rubbed a slow circle across her shoulders before trailing up to her shoulders.

"Ow," she protested softly. Then, "Don't stop."

He moved to her neck, warming the skin just above the collar of her t-shirt, first with his fingers, then with his lips. "Sorry Sam, I don't have time for a full body massage."

"Men," she huffed. "Speaking of which, where are the others?" She grabbed his hands and pulled him closer, wrapping herself in his embrace.

He turned his head a little so she wouldn't bump his glasses. "Jack's brooding about Teal'c, and Jacob is trying to boost the sensors to actually reach outside of this radiation belt."

She pushed aside the sharp stab of pain at the mention of Teal'c, and forced a grin instead. "Dad's become quite the engineer since Selmak." She'd come back to the engine room to study his work on the shield generator. Her father, who had never bothered to learn how to program his VCR, had done most of the work while she played tool jockey. She wasn't jealous, she reminded herself. Not at all. Right.

His breath tickled her ear. "So how long do you think we have?"

"Until the Colonel gets tired of brooding, and Dad gives up on the sensors? Another half hour, at least."

"Hm," he answered, and she wasn't sure if it was agreement or a sigh. His lips found her ear, and she heard her own involuntary reaction. Definitely a pleased sigh on her part. "Just enough time."

"Enough time for what, Doctor Jackson?"

His hands skirting under her shirt were his answer. She was torn between responding to his nuzzling at the side of her neck, and trying not to shiver as he explored the curve of her chest. And then there was the ear that wasn't pressed against his body, the one trying to listen for sounds of movement outside the engine room. Oh... "Daniel." She trapped his hands, still beneath her shirt. "We are not having sex."

"Not yet." He dipped his head again and found her shoulder.

She squirmed away, turning to face him. "I mean it. I can think of a hundred reasons, starting with the mess factor and moving onto possible mortification."

Daniel squinted slightly as he thought. "Mess factor?" he said, finally.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Ah." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I can think of a hundred reasons why we should."

She put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back a little. "Name one."

"Well..." He shrugged. "Radiation could be killing my, um, recreational prowess as we speak."

She couldn't help but grin. "Are you impugning my father's handiwork on the shields?"

He smiled back, but it was slight: the Daniel Jackson happiness tinged with sadness expression. "No. I'm suggesting that, as usual, we may not survive the hour, and I don't think I could stand knowing that I wasted a moment of the time I have with you."

Her insides did a somersault, that girlish, annoying reaction to him that drove her insane. "Dammit. That's not fair." She was already taking him in her arms before she'd finished speaking. She held him, held onto him, wrapping her fingers into the worn fabric of his jacket. His embrace was possessive, almost too tight, and she relished it.

"Does that mean we get to have sex? Because I just wanted to check."

"I'm going to tell the Colonel that you do have a terrible sense of humor," she threatened as she stripped the jacket off of him. "Particularly in bed. As the jacket fell to the floor, she pulled his mouth to hers.

"A bed would be nice," he managed, between kisses and his fumbling attempt to slide the straps of her bra aside while she was still wearing the shirt. "I think we'll have to do without."

Sam murmured something in reply, wasn't even sure if it was coherent, as he abandoned the straps and circled her nipples through the cotton fabric. Her own hands were lost for a moment, unable to choose a resting place before finally settling at the small of his back. She shifted her feet, letting his leg slide between hers slightly, cradling the beginnings of his erection at her hip.

"You're a bad influence," she said softly, kissing the edge of his cheek where his glasses rested before moving down and sucking lightly at the line of his jaw. She felt the slight stubble that she'd been unable to see, and it, together with the musky remnants of the aftershave she'd bought him, tickled her nose.

"You're a distraction," he retorted. He separated them long enough to pull her shirt over her head, and she lifted her arms to let it free. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

His shirt was gone, and she was already working at the button of his pants. "Then don't."

She slid a hand into the opening she'd created, and the zipper yielded to her further. She moved past the fabric of his underwear, to the skin and muscles that were already responding to her touch. He thickened in her grasp, bucking against her as she skimmed the tip of his erection with her thumb, and she felt a warm flush spread through her. She slid her hands around him, pushing his clothing down as she moved from his arousal, to hips, to buttocks, then back again. Or she would have, if Daniel hadn't groaned unsteadily and pulled her to him, nearly lifting her, before covering her mouth with his.

She overwhelmed by his taste, his teeth grating hers, his hands helping her rock against him. She let her head fall back as they ground into one another in an intoxicating, awkward shimmy, until she couldn't stand the clothing between them any longer. She pressed her fingers into his arms, urging him to move with her.

They sank to the floor, and he landed heavily, caught as his clothes tangled with his shoes. He met her eyes, saw the chuckle threatening to escape from her lips, and grinned before reaching to open the waistband of her pants. She felt drenched, on fire, ready to shoot out of her skin at the first touch of his hand between her legs. She bit back a moan.

"Just a sec," he muttered, and pulled away from her. She heard him grunt softly as he twisted, scrambling for something behind them. She ignored the cold that seem to steal in, trying to take his place, and concentrated instead on the slight hum of the ship's energy through the hard floor. She could hear the whispers of the generators around them, felt like she could sense every movement on the ship. She wondered how she'd ever worried about someone coming up on them unawares.

Fabric slid past her, and she saw that Daniel had balled up his discarded jacket. He slipped it under her head, dropping a kiss on her lips as he did so. He brushed his hands across her shoulders, down her chest, and pursued them with his lips until she pushed her pants away and lifted her hips. Not feeling patient, she thought. Not patient, not patient... and guided him into her.

They paused half a breath; they always did, reveling in the way they fit together. Tab A into slot B he'd joked once, but she knew he felt it too. They fit.

She tightened her thighs, drawing him into her, and he responded. He pressed forward, drew back, plunged again; she curled her fingers uselessly against the cold floor, then moved one hand, clawing at the makeshift pillow even while she pushed herself up and around him again. He slowed enough to move his free hand, working his way across her skin until he found room between them, and she rocked against the firm nub of his finger as he thrust into her.

She lost the individual sensations of the slippery friction of his body against her thighs, the fire in her muscles as she lifted herself to meet him, the soft sound of her name on his lips. He must have come, in that last, labored breath that echoed her own shuddering sigh. She was warm, and wet, and dreaded the moment when he slid from her, enough that she moved her hand to his back and pulled him down to her. He settled against her, careful not to crush her or his glasses.

She wondered if she ought to feel guilty. She wondered, faintly, how long they could lay there before someone came looking. She wondered if she gave a damn. "That was fun. Want to try it again?"

He groaned, turning it into a laugh. "On this floor?" he demanded.

Sam claimed a feathery kiss. "In our bed. As soon as we get home." She brushed the bangs back from his forehead, let her fingers trail in his hair. "Or sometime in the next million light years. Whichever comes first."

"It's a date," he mumbled against her body. "Wherever you want, I'll be there." His hand cupped her hip, fingers massaging her lightly.

"I can't do without you either." She said it so softly that he may not have heard, but it didn't matter. He knew it already.


End file.
